The Bachelor Party
by pandora1017
Summary: Ever wonder why Chris Jericho got hammered at Christian's bachelor party?


Title: "The Bachelor Party"  
Author: pandora1017  
Rating: PG  
Content: Language, mostly.

Notes: Somewhere, somehow, Christian or Edge did an interview mentioning that Jericho got VERY hammered at Christian's bachelor party. [Side note: One of the top ten jobs of all time? Being the stripper at Christian's bachelor party. Another? Being Christian's WIFE. *sighs*] So, I figure, I can't be the only one wondering why Jericho got COMPLETELY smashed. And *poof* This story was born. This is one hundred percent NOT what happened at Christian's bachelor party, but wouldn't it be angsty if it was?

Oh, and I'm trying to write E&C as non-drinkers. I don't know why, but when the Hardys say they don't drink, I believe them. *Matt and Jeff musi sit innocently on the futon, halos gleaming, smiling, and waiting for their turns to write* However, when E&C claim the same, it doesn't seem right... *Christian muse blinks at me innocently as he hides the lighter that he was trying to set Jericho muse's hair on fire with while Edge muse ignores me and continues playing NHL Face Off 2001 for Play Station* I don't get it. At least my Jericho muse is an admitted alkie. *Jericho muse toasts to that*

Characters: [Who I don't own currently. But I'm working on it.]  
Jay = Jay Reso = Christian  
Adam = Adam Copeland = Edge  
Chris = Chris Irvine = Chris Jericho  
Sean = Sean Morely = Val Venis  
Matt = Matt Hardy  
Jeff = Jeff Hardy

For Amanda [unless you think it sucks ;-)]

.

Why the hell did you invite me here? Extending some fucking olive branch? No, I know you better than to expect that. The only logical answer is that you're the same goddamned, sadistic son of a bitch I fell in love with.

Where's my fucking drink?

I grabbed my beer that I'd set on the coffee table next to me. If only I had something a little more effective. Then maybe I could ignore the fact that there was a stripper rubbing her box against your face. Yeah, sure, you don't seem that into it. Of course, that's not because you're gay, it's because you're going to get married.

To a woman. A goddamned woman.

I want to yell at you. Don't I mean anything to you? You were supposed to be mine! You told me that you were mine. And now here I am, a rebound-boy for some kraut you had a little spat with a while back. Funny, you never mentioned her to me before.

Oh, now it's my turn with the stripper. Great. She's bending over to rub her tits in my face but I can't take my eyes off you. Oh, so you're going to look at me now? You frown slightly at my dull stare, but don't move.

"Ok, sweetie, that's enough," I say, shoving her away from me. She backs off, surprised, then scoffs and moves over to Sean next to me. He's more than willing to have a lap dance. I cast a glance back to you. You're examining your hands and biting your lower lip. Guilt? You're using your guilt expression? You actually feel guilty for doing this to me? I don't believe it. My beer calls me again, then I look up to find you smiling at Adam now. That's more like it. Sure, you might feel something for me for a little while, but you're still easily distracted. Like a damned racoon, always looking for the next shiny object. Am I not fucking shiny enough for you?

I sink back into the couch and watch you and our friends enjoy the party. Don't they see what you've done to me? Don't they see how in love we are? Am I the only one here who knows that you don't really want to marry her? Why the hell are you doing this to yourself? Why are you doing this to me?

Finally, that broad is done. Now I can go raid your liquor stash without making a spectacle of myself. All the boys are getting up and heading towards the kitchen, too. Sean, the last one with the stripper, is now making a break for the bathroom. At least he's not going to do that in our room.

Sorry. Your room.

I hang back and watch the guys drain your keg one cup at a time. You, of course, are hanging back with Adam, Matt, and Jeff. Just have a fucking beer, you 'holier than thou' brats. After they all finish and get out of the way, I break into your liquor cabinet, wondering if it's still a liquor cabinet. What use would you have for it since I moved out? But, like a godsend, there are still bottles there. I dig through, looking for something good. You still have the gin I used to make my Collins, you still have the vodka I used for my White Russians... what, is all this ours? You've just kept this up here for, what, six months now? Fuck it, alcohol's alcohol. I'll finish it for you. I find the half of a bottle of Buschmills that I remember leaving here. Irish whiskey. The great thing about Irish whiskey is that if you're as thoroughly _not_ Irish as I am, it'll knock you down real fast. This will be my drink tonight.

"Chris?"

I freeze at the sound of your voice. You sound nervous. I force a blank look on my face and meet your glance. "Yeah?"

"Are you, ah..." You cast a glance to the bottle in my hand, "having a good time?"

What are you so afraid of? Why do you look so nervous? Do you feel guilty? You should. God, I hate to see you like this. I don't want you to be sad. I don't want to make you uncomfortable. Things are so fucking awkward between us now. I want to be able to just take you in my arms and let you know everything's all right. I want to hold you, smell your hair, feel you, and whisper sweet nothings in your ear. But I can't. So instead, I plaster on a fake smile. "Yeah, Jay, great fucking party."

I pat your shoulder as I walk past you to prevent you from seeing the tears that are about to start falling. This whiskey should stop them, I note, opening the bottle and throwing back a slug. Harsh fucking shit. Soon enough it'll numb my brain like it's currently numbing my throat. I hear you say something and turn to find you speaking quietly to Adam. You both are surprised when I turn to you and smile weakly at me. Simultaneously. It's actually kinda freaky. I smirk back and head towards your living room. Don't start worrying about me now, Jay, it's too late.

Flopping down on the couch, I suddenly realize that I've just accidentally wedged myself between the Hardys. Great.

"Y' know, y' should prol'ly drink that out of a glass," Matt advises.

"If y' don't, y' could get pretty fucked up pretty fast," Jeff adds.

I look dully between the two of them. "You say that like getting fucked up fast isn't my main objective."

"Chris," Matt starts, but I cut him off by patting his knee.

"Don't worry, junior, I know what I'm doing."

Matt and Jeff exchange glances over me as I take another drink. I ignore that. I need this alcohol tonight. Things start getting a little fuzzier and I just watch the people. They're talking, drinking, your brothers are wrestling. Sean's back from the bathroom and talking to the stripper. Subtle. And then there's you. You're talking to your little buddy Adam. Are you talking about me? You must be, since you keep looking at me. What are you saying? Keep an eye on Chris, he's going to get piss drunk tonight? You're damn straight I'm going to get piss drunk. I'm going to drink the alcohol you bought for me when we were together until I can't see straight then go pass out in your bed and pray that you come and fuck me silly.

But we both know that won't happen.

If you had dumped me because you didn't like me anymore, that would be fine. I could understand that. Lots of people don't like me. But _you_ do. You dumped me that fateful night three months ago because of some long distance call from Germany - which woke me up, thank you very much - because you like her _more_. You thought I was sleeping, didn't you? I was dragged out of sleep to hear, "Denise? Why are you calling? This is a bad time." I thought nothing of it. I didn't know many guys named Denise. You could have told me you were bi. That would have saved me a lot of confusion.

So it started with a phone call. Then you were distant. Then the 'this isn't working' bullshit. Then you don't talk to me for a month. And when we _do_ start talking, you don't bother telling me that you're engaged. To a woman. I had to beat it out of Adam. I bet it would have felt better to beat it out of you, if I could even fathom laying a hand on you in anger.

Christ, Jay, don't do this to me. Don't you see that we can't be friends anymore? Don't you see that you can't invite me to social events, especially not your own goddamned bachelor party? I need a drink, so I take another.

"Chris, maybe y' should slow -"

"Shut it, Matt."

I've pissed him off. He throws his hands up in frustration and leaves. Good, more room for me. Unless, of course, you want to sit here, Jay. And I can put my arms around you and hold you like I should. I can tell you how much you mean to me and why you shouldn't marry this woman. I can kiss you and remind you why we got together in the first place. I can drag you back to the bedroom and remind you why we stayed together. What's Denise going to do when you scream out my name during sex?

But you won't do that, will you? Perfect Jay, never makes a mistake.

How can you love her? She isn't me, you love me. I love you and you love me. That's how it works, remember. You _told_ me that you loved me! Remember? That night in New York on the twentieth floor balcony of our hotel room? It was just you, me, and the night. And you loved me.

But not anymore. I need a drink, but my bottle's empty. Christ, how long have I been sitting here drinking this? Well, I'll just get something else. I get up, but my head feels light, and I'm dizzy. I'm piss drunk. Perfect. Which way to your room? I stumble down the hall, having walked this path drunkenly before. The bathroom distracts me by reminding me that my stomach is trying to purge all this alcohol from me. A few more stumbling steps and I find myself face down in the toilet, donating the contents of my stomach to the bowl.

Goddamn, drinking is great.

"Chris?"

Nope, it's not you, Jay. "Fuck off, Adam."

I hear running water, then Adam kneels next to me, a hand on my back. "Are you all right?"

"Nope, this is 'Death by Alcohol 101.' Now go bring me that bottle of gin so I can finish." I vomit again.

"Chris, please," he starts, rubbing my back, concerned. "Drink this."

I look up tiredly at the clear liquid in the glass he holds out to me. "Unless that's vodka, I'm not interested."

"Chris, don't do this. Really. You're killing Jay, he -"

"No, no, I'm not killing Jay, I'm killing me. Remember? Now be a peach and go get me some alcohol. I have to get caught up from all that whiskey I just lost."

We both fall silent and he strokes my hair methodically as a wave of exhaustion crashes over me. "I'm sorry it came to this, Chris."

"Why the hell did he invite me? Why did I come here? I'm just torturing myself."

"He wants to be your friend, Chris. He was hoping that you had accepted this."

"Accepted that the first time I fall in love with a guy I turn him straight?"

Adam hesitates. "You didn't turn him straight."

"That'll be a nice surprise for Denise down the road, then."

Adam sighs. "Look, Chris. Jay still does love you. You're very dear to him and he feels terrible about how he treated you. Really. He wants you to be a part of his life."

"Yeah, but, sadly, the role I want is taken."

Adam falls silent again, and I slump down next to the toilet, my stomach finally calming down. Adam is croutching in front of me, watching me. I glare at him. "Give me the damn water."

He hands me the glass, quickly, surprised. I take a drink and lean back against the wall, closing my eyes.

"It's not fair, goddammit. I gave him almost a year of my life. A _year_. But this mysterious girl from his past shows up and _bam_, I'm nothing. He's engaged and married half a year later."

"He loves her, Chris," Adam painfully reminds me. "They had a relationship before he met you and they broke it off badly. It was tearing him up when she called him. He couldn't decide what to do."

"Well, he did end up choosing, didn't he?" I sneer, opening my eyes once again. "He loves _her_."

Adam sighs again. "I don't know what to say. He's following his heart."

"You're some fucking consolation, you know that?" I growl. Adam shifts slightly and sits next to me. "Why couldn't he just tell me? If we're supposed to be friends, he could stand to use a little fucking honesty."

"He didn't want to hurt you anymore. He doesn't know what you're thinking, you hardly talk to him anymore."

"What am I supposed to say? I hope you're real fucking happy with that bitch?"

"No, that probably wouldn't be good."

"Well, that's all I feel like saying to him."

"You're not making this easy, Chris."

"Sure, let me bend over backwards for him. As long as Jay's all right, fuck how I feel, right?"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't need to."

Another silence, then I speak again. "If you really want to help, send Jay in here."

"Why? How would that help?"

"I don't know. I miss him."

Adam puts an arm around me and I fall against his chest, crying. Christ, this is embarrassing. But that's what happens when you drink so much alcohol you lose control of your emotions. Adam has both arms around me, is stroking my hair and rocking me slightly. It's more consoling than I expect it to be and my sobs quiet after a moment.

"Is she nice?"

"Oh, yeah, she's very nice. Funny, too."

"Funnier than me?"

Adam laughs slightly. "I don't know if that's possible."

I smile and take a deep calming breath.

"Are you feeling ok?" he asks, letting go of me so I can look at him. It's not a happy look. "I mean, physically."

"I think I'm done puking, if that's what you mean."

"I think you should lay down, then."

I nod compliantly and he helps me to my feet. My head's still spinning a bit, but not as bad as a couple minutes ago. Adam leads me towards your room. I would protest, but I'm already half asleep from the alcohol. Just so you know, Adam put me here and I am not responsible for my actions should you get in this bed. My eyes blink shut as my head touches the pillow. I feel a hand brushing hair behind my ear and I mutter, "Thanks, Adam."

The bed shifts and you answer me. "It's not Adam."

My eyes jump open again. I must have fallen asleep. Or died, because I'm looking at an angel. My angel. You're sitting on the bed next to me, watching over me. Groggily, I push myself up, but you push me back down again and continue running your fingertips through my hair. Well, I really must be either sleeping or dead, because real live Jay hasn't touched me like that in six months. But I won't look a gift horse in the mouth. "Jay?"

You nod. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better, now that you're here."

You smile softly. "I'm sorry, Chris."

My smile falters, then vanishes. "For what?"

"For everything. I should have told you about Denise."

The woman exists in dream world, too, I guess.

"I was at a weird place, I honestly hadn't talked to her in over a year when we started seeing each other. I thought I was done with her..."

"You're never really done with someone you love," I mutter, mostly to myself. You frown. "It's all right, Jay. There's nothing I can do about it."

"Do I..." You falter. I watch you. "Do I have your blessing?"

"What would you do if I said no?"

"Marry her anyway," you admit. "But this way I know that we're still friends."

"I love you, Jay."

"You can love your friends," you insist.

"Did you purposely wait until I was drunk and sleeping to ask me this?"

You frown again. "No."

"Marry her, Jay. Go, be happy."

You bite your lip. You're so damn cute when you do that. "Are you sure?"

"I love you and want you to be happy."

"Chris, I -" You blink. Are you blinking back tears? Don't cry, just go get married. I only said that so I would have to deal with you crying. "That means a lot to me."

I smile weakly. Damn, and I thought our break up was painful. "Just keep me in mind in case things don't work out."

You nod, a tear running down your face, and I sit up. I want to kiss you one last time, knowing that it's the last time. To make it final. But I can't. I just watch you wipe away those tears with the back of your hand, finally realizing that they're tears of happiness. I take you into my arms - I'm allowed to do that, right? I hold you, one last time. And, to my surprise, you kiss me. One last time.

"Thank you, Chris," you say as you get up to leave. I watch you go, silently, until the door shuts behind you.

"Fuck you, Jay," I whisper. Then I lay my head back down on a pillow that smells like you and cry myself back to sleep.


End file.
